Heavy pilots crashing on my kingdom, my sorcerers told me. Faerie dragons are plotting a rebellion, as they don't like the piles of metallic junk on their enchanted grounds. I knew a pilot some time ago, but my pilot used to never leave his cockpit. One day I sent the sprites, who as u know can fly for short distances, to ask him to come down even for a day. He told them this can't be done. He was one of the most beautiful creatures in my kingdom, looking somewhat like a wood elf or better yet a sharpshooter. I always had a weakness for sharpshooters. I saw him briefly when he was delivering my air mail from the necromancers (oh those awful necromancers), he did not even landed his plane. I could get a glimpse from my balcony. His proper eyebrow ratio, right freckle placement, nice eyelash length and perfect jaw line ... I realized I don't know anything about his origins, what kind of creature he is or how he ended up here. Then I remembered when I was little the warlocks were telling stories about an old artifact, who was supposed to give one the gift of flight. I always assumed it's a legend but since I couldn't think of anything else and riding a dragon gives u no privacy at all, I sent the genies out looking for it. No army can stay in the way of their magic. The old creatures called this artifact The Angel Wings. With such a name, I thought to myself, for sure it must be a wild goose chase. But my luck skill did pay off eventually.

Feeling so alone and betrayed by all my subjects (well except my army who has always been loyal) I started visiting him every night. Flying around his plane, talking about the weather or the islands he saw on his flights which could be conquered, offense, magic resistance and things like that. Of course no one can know about our friendship as these things must be kept secret, especially by a young princess. But enough of that.

The faeries were planning with the archangels to take over my kingdom. They didn't believe all creatures can live together in one place. I knew about that but one can't fight the faeries, can he? Especially when I didn't have the archangels on my side! Small nasty faeries, they think they're better than everyone else. But bitterness won't get me no where, I wish I would have taken that diplomacy classes like the sorcerers advised.

One day my pilot friend told me since I'm not a sprite not even a Pegasus and there's no room for two in his cockpit this must stop. Our friendship that is. His home was the sky and the sky was not my home. I look up sometimes and it seems so close, everything seems so close... I told him we can go on like this, I can use the angel wings every time we meet and he could drop by around my balcony from time to time. Nothing has to change, I said. But he never left his cockpit. This was the end.

Now I'm walking thru enchanted ground and I can feel the earth sucking away all my magic powers, knowing now's a better time than ever for the faeries to catch me off guard, alone on their turf. Trying to find what's left of my pilot, I wonder where this rain came from. This sound, I've heard it before and as I look up I can see him fading away higher in the sky. Now I understand the rain. The necromancers built their castle. There's no way to attack now. We'll be waiting for random attacks and hoping our defense is strong enough. And it won't be. Funny thing I am pretty sure he's heading for their castle. He's no hero, he's a survivor. Knowing him I know he's not going to avenge the death of his fellow pilots, he's just picking the best side in this war which is about to come. I look at the clover leafs covering the ground and at the faeries staring back at me. Bold as I never was I ask them to open the Pandora's Box they've been guarding for generations. I always felt lost in their big purple eyes. And lost as I am the life I knew can never be the same. Angel wings and the balcony have a way new different meaning now. My hands are heavy and the heavy pilots crashing from the rain. Faeries and Archangels gasping in my face, I feel the breath of mutiny. As they open the box I realize what I have unleashed. A spell I only heard of from old war unicorns that were around when necromancers ruled this land: Death Ripple. Walking dead, like any other peasant turned by the necromancers, that's what I am. Me and the rest of my kingdom. My skin is peeling off and I can feel my bones cracking. Enchanted ground, cursed ground what's the difference? I'm just another soldier in their ranks. No kingdom, no balcony, no angel wings. But I must go to my new home and hope my neck wont break when I'll be looking for the pilot in the undead's fog.